


Mountains Beyond Mountains

by jeeno2



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Groping, Kissing, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-31 04:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeeno2/pseuds/jeeno2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Gendry Waters loses his job he moves up north for a chance at a fresh start.  But the fresh start he gets comes in a form he never expected.  Modern day AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_magnificently_angry_beaver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_magnificently_angry_beaver/gifts).



> A friend of mine -- possibly as a joke? -- gave me the words "flannel sheets" as a prompt. To my surprise it inspired this, my first Modern Day AU WIP for this fandom. I hope you enjoy.

Gendry Waters picks up the large metal snow shovel leaning against the front door of his cabin.  He easily slings it over his right shoulder and starts walking towards the driveway of the main house, his heavy winter boots crunching the snow under his feet as he goes.

He likes it up here so far, for the most part. Winters are much longer, and colder, than they are down in Detroit.  But his foster mom always told him he ran hot-blooded.  As far as he can tell it’s true.

Either way, he doesn’t mind the cold.

It’s a very short walk down to the house.  When he gets there he sees Lem, the other guy who does odd jobs in this part of town, already working on clearing its oversized driveway with his small snow blower.

“Hey,” Gendry says as he approaches.  He dips his shovel to the snow and starts digging.  They got a solid six inches overnight, and it’ll likely take them both a few hours to get this job done.

“Hey yourself,” Lem says over the noise of the snow blower’s engine.  When he sees the shovel Gendry is using he snorts.  “When you gonna get yourself one of these, kid?” He taps the top of his small snow blower with his hand.  “You ain’t living in the southern part of the mitten anymore.  We got _real_ winters up here.”

Gendry shrugs.  “I like working with my hands,” he says, tossing a large shovelful of snow over his shoulder.  “Besides – this is better exercise.”

“Keeps those guns of yours in top shape for the ladies, eh?” Lem asks, waggling his eyebrows and laughing.

Gendry just rolls his eyes.

They don’t talk much after that.  The man who owns this vacation rental – Mr. Dondarrion, one of the strangest people Gendry’s ever had the pleasure to meet – told them some people are coming up today to rent the house for the winter holidays.  A big-wig auto executive and his family.  He and Lem need to get this driveway totally cleared before two p.m. when they’re due to arrive.

“Which company did Dondarrion say this guy runs?” Lem asks when they’re about halfway finished.

Gendry shrugs again.  “Can’t remember.  Doesn’t matter though, does it?  They’re all the same.”

Gendry _does_ know the man doesn’t manage Stormsend, the auto company where he himself worked for six years before they let him go last July.  Because if he did run Stormsend, he’d have recognized the name the second Dondarrion mentioned it.

But Gendry had never heard the name “Stark” before in his life.

“Yeah, that’s true,” Lem agrees, nodding, returning to his work.  “Those companies are pretty much all the same.”  Lem was let go from Casterly Motors two years ago, himself, along with fifteen hundred other factory guys, in one of the largest single layoffs since the Great Depression. It made the newspapers and everything.

As the two men continue clearing the driveway in silence, Gendry tries to ignore the sinking feeling he’s had in the pit of his stomach ever since Dondarrion told them about the new arrivals.

When Gendry lost his job last summer he’d lost everything he had.  Coming up north was the first real chance he’s ever had in his life for a fresh start.  And so far, it’s going pretty well.  He earns enough to get by, he’s made some friends – he’s even met a couple of local girls he wouldn’t mind getting to know better.

He’s not much in the mood to be reminded of what was taken from him by the presence of a vacationing auto exec and his family. 

\-----------------------

After the driveway’s finally cleared off all the way down to the pavement, Gendry asks Lem if he wants a beer.

“Sure,” Lem says, shutting off the snow blower.  He wipes his hands on his work pants.  “I wouldn’t turn one down.  And my next job doesn’t start until six.”

“Great,” Gendry says.  He rubs his hands together to warm them.  “Because there’s a Labatt's in my fridge with your name on it, and my next job doesn't start until six, either.”

“Excellent.”

Their afternoon plans decided, Gendry and Lem shoulder their tools and together head off in the direction of Gendry’s cabin.


	2. Chapter 1

The roads heading north from Detroit were much icier today than Ned Stark – a native Michigander, but a timid driver nonetheless – likes them to be.  As such, it takes two hours longer to get up to the vacation house than usual. 

When they finally arrive, Arya gingerly eases herself out of her parents’ Volvo.  She stretches her arms over her head and yawns loudly, shivering a little from the cold despite the multiple layers she’s wearing.

She normally looks forward to their annual drive up here.  The scenery – once you get outside Detroit, anyway – is gorgeous.  Especially in winter, when everything’s covered in a thick blanket of white.

Today’s drive sucked, though. 

For starters, the trip didn’t _need_ to take as long as it did.  Arya isn’t afraid of driving on a little ice and repeatedly offered to take over the driving responsibilities from her dad.  But he kept refusing.  “It’s my job to drive our family,” he told her kindly, to her frustration.  “Not yours.” 

The ride was also extremely uncomfortable.  Being the smallest of the three Stark siblings who drove here with their parents today, Arya got stuck with the middle seat.  She didn’t mind sitting there when she was a kid, but now she’s nineteen and a fully-grown adult. Not to mention the fact that Sansa and Bran, her bookends for the trip, are a lot bigger than they used to be, too. 

And it’s just downright unpleasant when Bran – seventeen now, and all elbows, knees, and lanky limbs -- accidentally elbows her in the boob, while Sansa’s sprawled out and snoozing on the other side of her.  

Fortunately, as soon as Arya gets out of the cramped vehicle and moves around a little she feels much better.  She knows it’s corny and stupid to feel this way – and she’d never admit it to anyone – but it feels almost magical to her, this town where she and her family have spent the winter holidays every year since she was a kid.  She’s not sure if it’s just the fond memories she has of the place – of epic snowball battles with her brothers in the front yard and Christmas mornings wrapped up in blankets – or if there’s something about the actual air up here in Northern Michigan that’s different.

Either way, Arya is very happy to finally be in Petoskey.  Out of the cramped and stuffy car, away from college and her stupid classes that she can barely stand, and up here in the clean, pine air of Northern Michigan.

Arya’s just about to grab one of her duffels out of the trunk when her iPhone buzzes loudly in her pocket.  Turning her back on the car and her family she quickly digs it out of her jeans. 

Her stomach sinks a little when she sees it’s a text from Aegon. 

 _Just checking in.  Hope you’re having fun.  See you soon._ There’s a dumb smiley-face emoticon at the end of the message.

Arya shoves the phone back into her pocket, sighing a little.  She’ll text Aegon back later.  She just saw him three days ago.  After the confusing conversation they had that afternoon she’s in no hurry to get back to him. 

Right now she only wants to get unpacked and settled into the room she’ll be sharing with Sansa.

That settled, Arya turns back to the car and to her family.  Sansa and their mother are each carrying a few small things out of the car, leaving her dad and Bran to struggle with the heaviest suitcases and Christmas presents.

“Here, Dad,” Arya says, rushing over to her father.  She reaches out and grabs one of the duffel bags he’s carrying.  “I’ve got it.”  He’d never ask for Arya’s help outright, but Ned Stark smiles at his youngest daughter gratefully all the same as she slings the bag over her shoulder.

“Thanks,” he says, chuffing her a little on the chin.

The bag weighs a ton and the strap digs painfully into her back and shoulder.  Arya glances at the tag and realizes immediately that it’s the bag she stuffed all her heavy ski gear into. 

It’s good she took this from her dad when she did.  Ned Stark has fully recovered from last year’s mild heart attack (“brought on by an excess of work-related stress,” the cardiologist told them at the time).  All the same, his doctor would _not_ want him carrying something this heavy.

The path between the car and the rental house has been cleared, but there’s are large piles of fluffy white snow on either side of it.  Even the _snow_ is better up here, Arya decides.  Detroit’s snow always turns gray and ashy from car exhaust within hours of falling, or else it just melts down altogether within a day and turns the ground into an icy, slushy mess. 

The men Beric Dondarrion hires to shovel and do odd jobs around the property did a good job of clearing the path to the house.  But it looks like Petoskey got a lot of snow very recently, and a thin layer of snow still clings to the path  – and to the treads of Arya’s boots as she walks on it.  

When she gets to the front door she kicks its frame a few times to knock the snow off her boots so she doesn’t track anything inside.  In the process, a small chunk of white painted wood chips off the ancient door.  Glancing over her shoulder, Arya quickly and clumsily tries to put the chunk back where it came from, hoping no one saw what just happened.

* * *

 

There’s really no denying it: Mr. Dondarrion’s vacation house is old and weird _._    

It still has the same floral wallpaper that’s been on the walls since before Arya was old enough to realize how tacky it was.  The furniture hasn’t been updated in forever, either.  And Robb – her brother who’s been coming here with their parents for twenty-five years now – swears the appliances in the kitchen date back to the Carter administration.

Arya doesn’t care about any of that.  This place feels more like a real home away from home to her than her North Campus dorm room down in Ann Arbor ever has. 

Despite its condition, Mr. Dondarrion charges the Starks an arm and a leg to rent this house over the holidays.  Her parents have always felt it a fair price, though, because the house is perfect for them.  It has a ton of bedrooms, all of which they need.  After all, all five of the Stark kids, plus their cousin Jon Snow, stay here for the holidays every year. 

Additionally, the house is located very close to both Lake Michigan and some of the Midwest’s best cross-country skiing.  Which suits Arya just fine.

While Ned Stark hangs back in the kitchen to discuss administrative things like house keys and parking with Mr. Dondarrion, Arya and Sansa head to the room they’ve shared every year at Christmastime since Arya was a toddler.  The smallest, dingiest one, at the very back end of the house.

When they get to their room Arya flips on the light switch and smiles.  There are the neon pink comforters on the bunk beds that are always here, year after year.  There’s the orange- colored floral wallpaper with the mysterious brown stains that seem to get bigger every Christmas.

Arya thinks of all the skiing she’ll get to do on this trip and grins even more broadly as she walks into the room.    

“Which bunk do you want?” Sansa asks, dropping her bags in one corner.  She crosses to the bureau they’ll be sharing and looks at her reflection in the rusting mirror that hangs over it.  She fidgets a little with the end of her auburn ponytail.  “The top one or the bottom one?”

Sansa asking Arya which bunk she wants is a Petoskey move-in day tradition.  Even though Arya’s answer is the same every year.  Arya hoists herself up by her arms by way of wordless response, bypassing the rickety stairs, and lands in the middle of the top bunk’s lumpy mattress with a thunk.

Sansa looks up at her younger sister and smiles.  But the smile looks forced, and doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You’re silly,” Sansa teases.  She’s trying, Arya can tell, to act like everything is all right.  To pretend she’s fine.

Arya knows she should probably offer to talk with Sansa about what’s bothering her.  But she’s never been any good at saying the right thing; especially when the subject of conversation is romantic relationships.  She’d probably say something stupid without meaning to and just make Sansa feel worse about her recent breakup.

“I know I’m silly,” Arya says in response.  Mostly because she doesn’t know what else to say.  She sticks her tongue out at her older sister for good measure.  It makes Sansa laugh – a real laugh; not the fake ones she’s been using around their parents since coming home from school last week – and Arya’s heart feels a little lighter.

* * *

 

Arya watches from the top bunk as Sansa begins unpacking her things into their bureau. 

Arya understands why Sansa doesn’t want to tell their parents about Margaery Tyrell, the pretty girl from Chicago who was Sansa’s college roommate and best friend for years.  Until one day, Sansa quietly admitted to Arya, they suddenly became a whole lot _more_ than best friends. 

Sansa confided last night that she’s worried their parents just wouldn’t understand.  Or, worse, that they would strongly, and vocally, disapprove of her being gay.

Arya thinks Sansa has no reason to be concerned.  Their parents are kind and loving.  True, they are older; and yes, they are conservative and old-fashioned in some ways.  Their dad totally freaked out, for example, when Robb announced that he and his fiancée Jeyne were moving in together.  But both of their parents recovered quickly from that little shock, and Arya has to believe they would support and love Sansa no matter who she chooses to love. 

From a lifetime of knowing Sansa, Arya knows she’s taking the breakup hard.  She wishes Sansa would be open about what’s happened with the rest of their family so that she can seek comfort from them. 

But she knows it’s not her decision to make. 

“I’ve left the bottom two drawers for you,” Sansa says quietly, interrupting Arya’s train of thought.  “Will that be enough space?”

“Yeah,” Arya lies.  She’ll have to keep all her ski stuff in the hall closet if she only gets two drawers in here.  But she doesn’t mind.

* * *

 

About twenty minutes after Arya and Sansa have finished unpacking, Catelyn Stark pokes her head into their room. 

“Girls?”

Arya glances up and looks at their mother.  She’s simply radiating nervous energy, the way she always does at the beginning of these family vacations.  Like she’s been waiting all year for this, and now that it’s finally here she can barely contain her excitement.

“Yeah Mom?” Arya asks, taking out her iPhone’s ear buds.  She sits up a little in bed, propping herself up on her elbows.  “What’s up?”

“Robb just called,” Catelyn says, nodding.  She shifts her weight from foot to foot, and Arya has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud.

 _She’s so cute_ , Arya thinks.

“And?”  Sansa prompts, patiently.  “Why did Robb call, Mom?”

“Robb, Jon, and Rickon are about three hours away,” Catelyn says.  “It sounds like they got a late start leaving Ann Arbor.  But Robb thinks they’ll be here in time for dinner.  He said they’ll pick up some pizza on their way here.”  There are only a few restaurants in town, but LaGiordano’s – a small pizzeria – is a longtime family favorite.

Arya almost asks her mother if Jeyne is coming with them too.  Jeyne and Robb have been inseparable for months now, and Arya can’t imagine her brother surviving up here for two full weeks without her.

But at the last minute Arya bites her tongue, realizing that the last thing Sansa likely wants to think about right now is Robb and his fiancée.  Besides, they’ll find out soon enough whether Jeyne is coming. 

“Sounds good,” Arya says.  She sits up on the narrow top bunk and dangles her legs over the side.  “Sounds like I’ll have time to go skiing before they get here.”

“You will,” her mother agrees.  “And the weather’s perfect for it.”

Arya may not be a very good student.  She may not be applying to medical school like Jon, or about to enter an English PhD program like Sansa.  She despises math, so she knows she’ll never be a businessman like her dad or a Michigan MBA student like Robb.

But if there’s one thing she’s always excelled at, it’s winter sports.  She knows that she’s lucky to have a family that supports her in this, even if her love for ice skating, skiing, and snowshoeing will never take her anywhere.

* * *

 

Arya’s outside in the fresh air less than ten minutes later, gripping her cross-country skis in one hand and her poles in the other.

Just before she straps the skis on her feet, she thinks for a minute about whether or not to take her phone. 

“Fuck it,” she says in the end, deciding to chuck the phone in the Volvo under some blankets.  One of the things she loves best about skiing out in the woods is it lets her escape the real world for a little while in a way nothing else can.  Bringing a phone along today would ruin that, somehow. 

Her family will know where to find her if they need her to come back, she reasons, as she adjusts the blankets in the back of the car so her phone is well hidden.  And besides – the last thing she wants to deal with right now is another stupid text from Aegon. 

\----

Arya occasionally sees other skiers when she’s out in the woods.  Mostly other vacationers.  They rarely know what the hell they’re doing, despite their expensive gear and winter clothes. 

She always does her best to avoid eye contact with these and just keep moving.  But sometimes they succeed in getting her to stop.  When that happens, they’ll often try to make small talk with her.  Like they see her presence as an opportunity to take a break from something they don’t really want to be doing in the first place. 

Arya hates making small talk with people, especially when she’s doing something she enjoys.  But she doesn’t want it to get back to her parents that she was rude to people who they likely know either professionally or socially back in Detroit.  So she normally plays along with these skiers, tries to smile, and waits for it to be over so she can get back to what she was doing.

 _Yes, the woods up here are beautiful_ , she’ll agree quickly.  _Oh, and yes, yes, it sure is a lot colder here in Northern Michigan than down south!_

And so on.

Today, when Arya’s managed to ski a few miles from the rental house, she sees someone else skiing towards her.  And she groans inwardly, gearing up for the annoying interaction she’s about to have.

As the skier gets closer, however, and she can see him a little better, she realizes this guy is different from the people she usually runs into out here.

Like almost everyone else, this guy doesn’t seem to really know what he’s doing.  His form is awful.  He’s pushing off with his poles – a rookie mistake – instead of letting his back and his legs do all the work.

But aside from that commonality, he looks nothing like the people she usually sees in these woods.  For starters, he’s not wearing a fancy-but-useless winter jacket.  No; this guy clearly knows how to dress for spending hours in cold weather.  He’s wearing a Carhartt jacket that’s unzipped a little at the neck, exposing the top of the red flannel shirt he’s got on underneath.  He’s wearing warm-looking, but inexpensive, gloves.  His skis look perfectly serviceable but very basic. They look a little worn on the edges, suggesting they’ve been used a lot.

Given what a crappy skier he is, the skis likely haven’t been used much by _him,_ making Arya think he must have borrowed them from someone.  Or else gotten them used.

As he comes a little closer to her she notices his hair is jet black.  She thinks he’s a little older than her.  He’s got a really nice build, too – taller than her but not too tall, with broad shoulders and thick, muscled arms.

She realizes, in a flash, that this guy is incredibly hot.  And also that she’s been staring at him for the better part of a full minute.

He pulls up alongside her a moment later and comes to a complete stop.  His bright blue eyes flit to hers, and for the first time in recent memory Arya is worried she might fall down while on skis.

“Hey,” she says, hoping she sounds nonchalant, trying not to sound like a total idiot in front of this hot guy she’s never met before.

“Hey,” he says back to her, nodding in her direction and waving a little.  “I’m Gendry.”

“Um,” Arya says.  She anxiously runs one hand through her short hair – a moderately difficult task with a ski pole in her hand.  “I’m… I’m Arya.”

He nods a little.  “You new in town?”

He must think she lives here.  She doesn’t bother to correct him.  Does he live here too?  He must.  “Yes, I’m new here,” she tells him.  “Just came up with my family.”  That part’s not a lie, at least.

He nods.  “Where you living?”

“Errr… just down the hill.”  She jerks her thumb back towards the direction of the house.

“Cool,” he says.  “I live down that way too, actually.”  He looks at the ground, pokes at one of his skis a little with a pole, then glances back up at her.  “Well, um.  Maybe I’ll see you around sometime?”

“That would be great,” Arya says before she even realizes she’s said it.

“Ok,” he says, grinning broadly now, showing off two rows of very straight, white teeth.  “Um.  Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” he says. 

_Is he blushing?_

“Yeah,” Arya manages.  “Sure.”

Without another word, the hot guy named Gendry skis off in the direction he was headed before they came across each other in the woods.

Arya breathes in deeply through her nose and blows it out through her mouth.  “Well, then,” she murmurs to no one.  And she skis off, thinking of how crappy his skiing form was – and how if she were really a good person, she’d have said something to him about that while he was still here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. :) If you'd like to find me on tumblr, where I blog about Game of Thrones, ASOIAF, and my naughty cats, you can find me there as jeeno2.


	3. Chapter 2

Gendry’s just getting to Mott’s gas station for his evening shift when a BMW with University of Michigan stickers all over the back bumper pulls up to one of the three working pumps.

It’s the fourth beamer Gendry’s seen this week.  He closes his eyes and grits his teeth, hoping these assholes just fill up their tank and leave without buying anything.  He’s behind the register tonight, and he’d rather not ruin what’s been a pretty damn good day so far by dealing with them.

Gendry parks his motorcycle in the tiny square of asphalt reserved for employee parking.  He takes his helmet off and quickly replaces it with a faded Detroit Tigers ballcap from the glove compartment.  Carrying his helmet under one arm, and without another glance at the BMW, he heads towards the small store, clouds of his icy breath leading the way.

“Hey, Waters,” Tobho Mott says as he opens the door, the jingling bell over the door signaling his entry.  Gendry’s boss is behind the register, counting out his drawer.

“How’s it been today?” Gendry asks, taking off his hat and rubbing at his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Busy,” Mott says absently, nodding a little, his complete focus still on the cash drawer. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”  After a long pause, Mott puts a new drawer in the register and slams it shut.  He turns to look at Gendry.  “But it’s always busy this time of year.  You ain’t been up here for Christmas yet – but it’s almost as bad during the holidays as it is over the summer.”  Mott laughs a little. “Annoying as hell to have all these rich assholes around, but we make most of our money during Christmas and over the summer, so…” He trails off, shrugging.  “I mean, we’d be fucked without them, so we gotta deal with it.”

“I guess,” Gendry says.

Gendry knows that without tourism, this part of the state would dry up like a pond in a drought.  But it doesn’t mean he has to _like_ the tourists.  Gendry prefers the off-season – the fall and spring months – when the only people around are the folks who actually live here.  When it’s not overrun with wealthy tourists from down south. 

There’s a lot less work to be had in the off season.  And less money.  But the town is quiet and feels half-empty then, and for reasons Gendry can’t quite put his finger on, he likes that.

Besides, with six months of unemployment money still coming his way, and another five weeks of Stormsend severance left, Gendry doesn’t need much work right now to get by.

“Oh, hey – before I forget,” he says as Mott makes his way to the back office.  “Is it ok if I leave at ten tonight?  Lem says he can cover for me until two.”  Lem’s looking to make a bit of extra money for the holidays and he told Gendry he wasn’t in the mood for Tom’s party tonight anyway.

In truth, before this afternoon’s unexpected encounter in the woods, Gendry had planned to skip Tom’s party too.  He’s pretty tired from working too many nights in a row and could use a good night’s sleep.

But seeing Arya today made him change his mind. Gendry hasn’t been able to get her out of his head since he saw her, looking like such a badass on those skis.  There’s a boldness to that girl that he noticed right away; almost like she was daring the path they were skiing to challenge her, with a smirk on her face that told him she knew full well it wouldn’t.

Tom knows almost everyone in town.  More specifically, he makes a point to know all the single girls as soon as possible after they get here.  Especially if they’re hot.  Tom’s motives might be lecherous, but the fact remains: there’s no way he’d let a new girl like Arya go uninvited to his party tonight. 

Which is why Gendry has to be there.  Whatever it was he saw in her silver eyes today isn’t something he sees much in the girls up here.  In girls anywhere, really.  He’d like to see more of it – a _lot_ more of it – if he can.

“Sure, you can take off early,” Mott says, shrugging.  “Just as long as we don’t close.”

“We won’t,” Gendry assures him quickly.  “Lem will be here.  I just have a… a thing, tonight.”

“Fine.  I’ll see you tomorrow at two.”  Mott waves a little and walks back to his office with his cash drawer, leaving Gendry alone with his thoughts.

* * *

 

Just a few minutes into Gendry’s shift, the people in the BMW get out of the car and start walking towards the mini-mart.   Gendry realizes, with a quiet groan, that he’ll have to deal with them after all.

“Great,” he mutters under his breath as four people – two guys and a girl who look about his age, and a surly-looking kid who’s probably about fifteen – enter the store.  They’re all wearing jeans and sweatshirts, but after six months up here Gendry is an expert at recognizing rich kids who are slumming it.  Their stance, the way they wear their jeans – everything about them sets them apart.

He grits his teeth and digs his fingernails into his palms as he watches them move around the store.  The two older guys head straight for the beer fridge in the back while the girl and the kid browse the soda display.  There are no other customers to distract him from these people, and so Gendry starts rearranging the tobacco boxes behind him just for something to do.

But it’s a small space, which means tuning them out altogether is impossible.

“I just love it up here already,” the girl calls across the store to the older guys.  One of them – the one with the college-boy beard and short-cropped hair – turns away from the beer fridge and grins at her.  “And we haven’t even gotten to the house yet!”

“I keep forgetting you’ve never been up here before,” the guy says.  He crosses over to where she’s standing and kisses the tip of her nose. 

She giggles, and then the guy reaches his hands around and grabs her ass, right in front of everyone.  She squeals and swats at his arm, but she’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Would you cut that out?” the younger kid whines, giving voice to Gendry’s thoughts.  “ _Jesus_ , Robb…”

“Sorry,” Robb the ass-grabber says.  But he doesn’t sound contrite, and doesn’t take his hands off the girl.  He leaves them right where they are and gives her another squeeze.  And then he leans in and captures her mouth in a giggly kiss. 

If Robb is _actually_ sorry, he’s not doing it good job of showing it.

A moment later, the fourth person in their party – a guy who’s been silent so far, and who has slightly longer, curlier hair than Robb’s, approaches the counter with four six-packs of LaBatt’s Blue in his arms.  He puts them on the counter and pulls his wallet out of his back pocket.

“How much is the beer?” he asks Gendry as he slides his driver’s license across the counter.

Gendry glances down at the card.  _Jon Snow_ , it says _.  DOB: 4/19/89._ Jon Snow lives in Ann Arbor, Michigan.  Not surprising.

Gendry hands the driver’s license back to Jon and runs each six pack over the scanner.  “Thirty dollars and seventy-nine cents,” he says.

Robb takes one hand off the girl and pulls his wallet out of his pocket.  He withdraws two twenties from it, very clumsily.  Without looking away from his girlfriend he tosses the money at Jon, who only just manages to catch it before it lands on the floor.

“Here,” Robb says absently, before kissing his girlfriend again.

Jon gives the money to Gendry.  To Gendry’s surprise, he makes eye contact with him and looks apologetic.  Then he shakes his head and rolls his eyes theatrically. 

Gendry has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud.  At least he’s not the only one who thinks Robb’s a douchebag.

“Are we almost done here?” the kid asks, stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans.  “I’m hungry.”

“Yes, Rickon,” Jon says.  “We’re getting pizza in a minute.”  He puts his hand out for his change as Gendry gives it to him.

“Have a nice evening,” Gendry says – just like he’s been trained to do, for all their customers – as the group slowly makes their way out of the store.  The bell over the door jingles loudly as it closes behind them.

Gendry closes his eyes and takes several calming breaths.

He hopes he doesn’t have to deal with any other vacationers tonight.

* * *

 

As it happens, Lem doesn’t actually show up at Mott’s to relieve Gendry until 10:15. 

Lem’s full of apologies and excuses as he hurries into the store and begins counting out Gendry’s drawer.  But nothing Lem says changes the fact that he got here a full twenty minutes later than he said he would. 

Which means Tom’s party is already well underway by the time Gendry finally gets to his house, flushed and red in the face from his frigid, windy ride. 

“Hey, buddy!  You made it!” Tom says over the din of loud music and drunk people inside his small house.  Tom claps Gendry on the back, hard, as he walks in the door, his words a little slurred and his gait unsteady.

Tom – who some people in town call “Sevenstrings” because of his notoriously bad performances at karaoke – was one of the first people Gendry met after moving up here.  They hang out at least once a week.  Gendry probably knows Tom better than he knows just about anyone in town. 

Because of all of this, Gendry doesn’t even have to ask to know that the beer in Tom’s hand is likely his fifth or sixth of the evening.

“Yep,” Gendry says, nodding.  It’s very warm in Tom’s house and Gendry takes off his heavy jacket, folding it over one arm. “Had to work until ten, but… but yeah.  I’m here now.”

“Glad you could make it,” Tom says, earnestly.  He takes Gendry’s coat from him and hands him a beer.  “It’s just so fucking hard for people to get together these days with how busy things are over the holidays, and people going home for Christmas and all, but… but yeah.”  Tom trails off and nods absently.  The blank look on his face tells Gendry he’s completely lost track of what he was saying. 

That happens sometimes with Tom.

“Yeah,” Gendry agrees, having no idea what he’s agreeing to

“Anyway,” Tom says, shaking his head a little as though trying to clear it. “Go on, kid.  Make yourself at home.” Tom gestures broadly to the living room, where at least two dozen people Gendry recognizes well are sitting around, drinking and talking and smoking.

He doesn’t see Arya among them, and his face falls a little.

“Hey, Tom?” Gendry asks, trying to work up the courage to ask what’s on his mind.  _Have you met a girl named Arya?  Did you invite her?  Is she coming? Is she_ here?

But Tom’s already moving away before Gendry can unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth, drifting towards the raucous laughter coming from his kitchen.

Gendry sighs a little and twists the cap off his beer.  He shoves the cap into the pocket of his jeans and drinks deeply, glancing around the room one more time.

Bella’s here tonight.  She’s sitting on Tom’s olive green sofa up against the far wall of the living room, wearing her tight, low-cut black shirt that shows off her tits.  She’s talking animatedly with the girl sitting next to her, her long, red, manicured fingernails reflecting light from the lamp on the end table next to her.

Gendry normally likes it when Bella shows up at Tom’s parties.  She’s a very nice girl.  She’s from the same downriver Detroit suburb that he spent most of his childhood in, so they have that in common.

And twice, when she was between boyfriends and they were the last people left at a party, she made out with him, right here in this room, on that olive green couch, pressing him into the cushions and kissing him senseless.

Despite all of that, Bella’s not the brightest girl in the world.  Or even very interesting.  She laughs at his jokes but it never sounds sincere.  In truth, she reminds him a lot of the girls from back home, which is all well and good – but he never really liked the girls back home much. 

In a nutshell, she’s just not the girl he was hoping to hang out with tonight.  

Just as Gendry decides to go and see what’s happening in the kitchen, Bella looks up and sees him standing by the front door.  They make eye contact, and his stomach sinks.

“Gendry!” she squeals, much louder than usual.  She must be drunk, too.  “You’re here!”

Before Gendry has the chance to pretend he didn’t hear her, Bella is off the sofa and striding towards him, her tits bouncing a little as she walks.

Gendry swallows thickly and looks her in the eye, rather than where he suspects she _wants_ him to look.

“Hey,” she says to him, giggling.  She’s wearing that perfume Gendry kind of likes, and at least a dozen red and green bracelets on each arm.  They clack and jangle together as she brushes her long black hair back from her face.  “What’s up?”

Gendry shrugs.  “Oh, you know,” he says.  “Not a lot.  Just got off work.”

“Mott let you off early, huh?”      

“Yeah,” Gendry says, nodding.  “Lem’s covering the rest of my shift for me.”

Bella puts her hand on Gendry’s upper arm.  Gives it a squeeze.  He looks down at where her fingers rest on his bicep. _She must have ended things with Raff,_ Gendry thinks.

She laughs then, even though what he just said about Lem wasn’t remotely funny, and tosses her hair over her shoulder.  “Better him than you, huh?”

Gendry shrugs.  “Yeah, I guess.  He wants to make a little extra money, so –“

Bella swallows his next words with a kiss.  She does it quickly, and it’s over almost as soon as it began.  She pulls away from him with a sly grin, and Gendry licks his lips without meaning to.  They taste like lipstick and alcohol.

“Um,” he says stupidly. She’s standing very close to him now, looking up at him expectantly.  He glances away from her and over her shoulder, at the people still sitting on the sofa against the far wall.  They’re talking with each other and seem to be paying no attention whatsoever to what he and Bella are doing.

“Wanna get out of here?” she asks him quietly.  His eyes dart back to hers.  One of her eyebrows is raised suggestively, and she begins to stroke Gendry’s upper arm with the palm of her hand.  “This party’s pretty boring...”

“Um,” Gendry says again.  He tries to back up and away from her, but realizes, suddenly, that she’s already got him backed up against the wall.  She places her free hand on his chest and bunches up the fabric of his cotton shirt a little in her fist.  The heat from her hands radiates through the thin fabric of his clothes, warming his skin.

Suddenly, without warning, an image of this girl, shirtless and on top of him, swims through his imagination.   Of its own volition his dick twitches once, hard, inside the confines of his jeans. 

 _Shit_.

Interpreting Gendry’s moment of hesitation as agreement, Bella grins up at him.  She kisses him again, more aggressively this time.  She parts his lips roughly with her tongue and sighs into his mouth, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her breasts up against his broad chest.

It’s enough to snap Gendry out of his reverie and remind him of why he came to Tom’s party in the first place.  He disentangles himself from Bella’s embrace and pushes her gently away from him by the shoulders.

“Bella,” he says, breathing a little heavily in spite of himself.  “I… uh…”

“What is it?” she asks.  She looks confused.

But he doesn’t want this tonight.  

 _I need to get out of here_. 

“Look,” Gendry says, flustered.  He shakes his head.  “I’ll just… I’ll just see you later, ok?”

Without another word, Gendry quickly brushes by Bella and collects his jacket from the chair where Tom laid it just a few minutes ago.  And he rushes out Tom’s front door as fast as he can, not even bothering to put on his jacket until he’s already on his motorcycle.

* * *

 

Gendry’s cabin is less than a mile from Tom’s house, and it only takes three minutes for him to get home.  Had he not come straight from work, he likely would have just walked over to Tom’s instead of biking there.

One of the things he likes best about this place is how little time it takes to get anywhere he needs to go.  The grocery store is a five minute bike ride away.  The post office?  Two minutes.  When he still worked in Detroit, he spent at least a solid hour every single day on his bike, just getting to and from the job he both despised and depended upon for survival.  That life-wasting commute was one of the many things he hasn’t missed for a second since being laid off.

After parking his bike in the cabin’s small driveway, Gendry digs his hand into the pocket of his jeans for his house keys.  He fumbles with them a little until he finds the right one.  He lets out a deep breath and inserts the key into the lock.

“Arya Stark!” a loud, female voice calls out behind him.

Gendry jumps, surprised, and turns his head in the direction of the voice.  And his jaw clenches tightly when he sees the girl he met in the woods today, not a hundred feet away from him.  Her hair is in a messy braid, there’s a warm woolen knit hat on her head – and she’s laughing and walking towards the vacation house, arm and arm with the people he served at Mott’s earlier this evening.

“We’re coming!” Arya shouts back.  She grins then, and mutters something under her breath.  Gendry can’t hear what she said, but whatever it was makes Robb – who’s on her left arm – laugh uproariously.

Robb’s girlfriend punches him, hard, on his other arm.

“I swear you two are going to get us kicked out of here,” she scolds.  But that only makes Robb and Arya laugh harder.

Gendry hears the front door of the vacation house squeak open.  The loud female voice from inside has a number of chastising things to say to the arriving party.  But Gendry’s already turned his back on them.  Furious, he kicks open the door to his cabin and slams it shut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. :) 
> 
> If you'd like to find me on tumblr, where I blog about ASoIaF, Game of Thrones, and my naughty cats, I'm there as jeeno2.


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